A Bird Called Monkey
by Nikoru-chan
Summary: Robin has tickets to a very *special* theatrical performance. This might impress Nightwing, except that . . . huh? opera? Please C


A Bird Called Monkey

By: Nikoru-chan

Disclaimer: I do not own, rule or run DC. Hence, it's pretty obvious that the characters portrayed herein do not belong to me. I'm simply borrowing them briefly for the purpose for which they were created – entertainment. No profit is being made from this fic. The Non-DC characters referred to do not belong to me either. I think, however, any copyright has **long** since run out, though Wu-Cheng En's original work may or may not be a world heritage item. 

Note: My thanks to Charlene and Snacky, for the beta work. 

**. . .** = thoughts

Robin – Tim Drake – looked altogether far too insufferably pleased with himself. In fact, despite his admittedly avian costume, he bore a stunning resemblance to the cat that had not only gotten the canary, but also swallowed an entire bowl of cream as an aperitif.  That the stake-out had further been a bust added another layer of oddness to Robin's Cheshire-like visage: Despite the rain, the cold, and the sudden display of apparent common sense on behalf of the crooks who'd opted to stay home for the evening, the boy wonder was grinning like mad.

This, of course, made Nightwing very, very curious. 

And a Nightwing with no drug-dealers, gun-runners or other associated low-life scum to distract him is an inquisitive beast indeed. 

"What's up?"

"Huh?"

"You. What's up with you?"

"Nothing."

"Crap. You've been smiling like crazy all evening."

"It's nothing." The youth let out a delighted chuckle. 

"The heck it is. Spill." 

It took a stronger man than most to resist one of the Bat-clan on a fact-finding mission. Especially when that particular member's interrogation tools of choice were a noogie of truly epic proportions, followed by merciless tickling. Robin hesitated. Then obviously unable to contain the excitement that threatened to bubble over, he 'spilled'.

"Got tickets."

"Enough with the monosyllabic Bat thing!" 

"'Tickets' is two syllables."

"So you're one up on Tall, Dark and Scary. Now stop trying to change the subject. Tickets to what? Tell or I tickle." That was part of the deal of hanging with the Bat; you had to know which threats were the most appropriate in any given situation. Dismemberment, throwing off of a building without a leap line, and tickling were the big guns, but desperate times, desperate measures and all that. The threat worked. Either that, or it was the barely contained enthusiasm in the younger vigilante.

"One-show-only midday matinee! It's gonna be great! I got the tickets from Oracle. I still don't know how Oracle got them. I was just over at her place, glued to a website ad for it and bemoaning my inability to go when she rolled over and we started talking and I said how much I wanted to see it and how Batgirl'd probably like it as well, and suddenly she had tickets if I took Batgirl too!" He paused in awed silence, "your girlfriend rocks!"

"I know." **What I didn't know is that there's a circus in town. Haly's isn't due up here for another three months, so it must be one of the others.** "So which part of the circus do you think she'll like best? Batgirl, that is?"

"The circus? Who said anything about the circus? I'm taking Batgirl to the opera!" With that Robin readied a leap line and plunged into space, leaving his gaping big brother behind on the roof, too flabbergasted to move. 

**The . . . Opera? Okay, who the heck was that, and what did they do with my little brother?**

***************************

LATER

Nightwing was still somewhat bemused, though less overtly shocked, when he arrived at the Clocktower mid afternoon of the next day. As it was daylight, and as Barbara had subtly threatened grievous bodily harm should he come through the window at that time, he rang the doorbell. (Dick wasn't the only one to have learned intimidation from the master, though the former Batgirl was, in his opinion, vastly his superior at it.) 

A smiling Babs allowed him up, remotely unlocking the security grilles and disabling the voltage charges, gas pellet dispensers and trapdoors. 

"Come in, FBW," she said, the warmth in her voice reaching him despite the slight distortion of transmission. "And go sit on your kid brother before I gut him with a batarang."

Dick blinked at the non-sequiteur, "That doesn't sound too good."

"Yeah, well, I figured I'd get you to start with him, then while Cass is convulsed with laughter, I'd clobber her. They're both good kids, but enough is enough."

**Whoa. Never tick off the redhead. And Tim knows that. First the opera, and now this. Things just keep getting weirder.** He paused at the door, mentally running through the list of villains who could use mind control, were out of prison or Arkham, and were nutty enough to do something like . . . opera . . . to a Boy Wonder. Blanching at his conclusions, he none the less turned the handle, every muscle tensed for fight or flight. **At any rate, Babs'll have the best means of contacting J'on J'onzz, and if he can't reverse the mental damage, no one can!**

Dick's caution was irrelevant. While Babs spared him a smile and a greeting, the other two occupants were otherwise engaged.

"Monkey! You not bird, you monkey!" Cassandra laughingly accused, lunging at the likewise chortling Boy Wonder. Swinging a broken broom handle in front of her like a sword, she giggled as Tim parried with his staff. 

"Ha! Take that, Dragon!" The pair bounded around the room, flipping objects between them in a fight that, Dick immediately realised, was more playful dance than combat. **Now, where have I seen that style before?** Ducking, he avoided the dustpan Cassandra tossed with semi-serious intent at Tim's head.

"Enough!" He growled, using The Voice. But tones that would stop hardened criminals had no effect on hyperactive teenagers. Especially not **these** hyperactive teenagers. 

**Crap. It's worse than I thought.**

Taking Barbara at her word, he flipped a pair of batarangs at the fighting twosome.  As expected, both sensed the projectiles coming; Tim danced out of the way of one while Cassandra lazily snagged the other mid-flight. 

"No fair! No ganging up on me with the Dragon-chick!"

"Why no fair, Monkey boy?" Grinning evilly, Cassandra prepared to relaunch the captured item at her prey. "All fair when fighting ape."

The exchange, brief though it was, afforded Dick the time he needed to reach across and grab his little brother by the scruff of the neck. Smirking, Cassandra evaded his grasp.

"Tim, what is going on?" Trying to remain reasonable, Dick searched the younger boys face for signs of mind control. 

Tim turned towards him, but instead of the half-vacant glazed look that Dick was fearing, his eyes were full of humour and lively expression. 

"We went to the opera! They did scenes from three operas, it was the greatest!"

**Oooookay. Well, that was spectacularly unhelpful** "The 'Dragon' I can understand, but why is she calling you 'Monkey boy'? Heck, why are you letting her?"

His little brother had the grace to blush slightly at that one. "It's because of the opera."

In the mind of the world's second-greatest-detective, the pieces suddenly clicked together. 

"You went to see the Peking Opera, didn't you?"

"Yeah! It was the greatest!" 

"I think I'm beginning to see why she's calling you 'Monkey'."

"One of the scenes they did was from the Xa Xui Yi, you know, the bit when Monkey King gets his staff from the Dragon King. It was cool!"

Letting go of his brother, Dick slumped to the couch, laughing weakly.  "Great. Just great. Monkey the Boy Wonder." He grinned evilly as a sudden thought struck him, "What are you going to do if this nickname sticks?"

 "I'll point out that it's short for 'Great Sage, Equal of Heaven'. Besides, if Cassandra wants to call me something, there's not a lot I can do about it. It's hardly like I can kick her butt, so I'm just counting my blessings that she's being kind."

"Oh? 'Monkey' is kind?"

"We only saw one other opera hero who used a staff to fight, and that was Lingbo, a celestial fairy!"

END.

Random act of senseless silliness complete. What can I say? Peking Opera rocks. Oh, and yep. This fic exists because my very own copy of a certain Arthur Whaley translation **finally** arrived!


End file.
